Numb
by yeaka
Summary: Glimpses at Marcus Flint's life with cameos from Oliver and Percy. (Slash, non-con, abuse, drabbles.)


Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I'm not making any money off this.

Warnings: Slash, uselessness.

A/N: This is a redrabbled version of the extremely old story, 'Nothing and Numb.' Proceed with caution.

* * *

His dad's breath reeks of alcohol – Marcus locks himself in his room and flips through _Quidditch Through the Ages. _He's more reading the notes scrawled messily between lines than the actual pages, and every so often Marcus scribbles over them. Mostly he just writes useless shit and insults, for the off chance that he'll give the book back. He stole it from Wood last year – something to hold onto in the summer. Next year he'll get an apartment, he thinks – one that doesn't have Firewhiskey stains in the carpet.

* * *

The Quaffle lands heavily on the ground with a dull thud. Marcus lands next to it. Wood's storming over to him, looking fiery as ever. "You fucking fucker!" Wood's fury is so thick on his face that his words are borderline incoherent; Marcus' smirk only grows. "You _knew_ I wanted the pitch today, you asshole!"

Marcus did know.

And Marcus booked the pitch on purpose, just to fuck Wood over. Wood's alone, now – the team's probably huddled back in the change rooms. Wood's always early. Marcus isn't with his team, either – this is a private thing: just him and Wood.

Wood doesn't stop walking until he's right in front of Marcus. This is the fifth time this month Marcus has done this to him, something that both Marcus and Professor Snape find hilarious. He's got another note in his pocket for next Tuesday. When Wood's close enough, he shoves Marcus hard in the chest – Marcus is so taken by surprise that he drops his broom.

Then he shoves Wood back, snarling, because that's what he always wants. A minute later and he's throwing a struggling Wood to the ground, straddling him and pummeling him in the stomach. Wood bites and scratches and kicks back, and Marcus hits him and _hits him_. Wood breaks like paper under his hands, bruising and whimpering and never once stopping – Wood always fights until he's unconscious.

Marcus grabs both his wrists and pins them down – Wood scowls and tries furiously to break free. Marcus bends down with a cruel laugh, crushing their lips together.

When Wood tries to bite his tongue, Marcus pulls back in time, and he rewards Wood by biting down so hard on Wood's lip that copper fills both their mouths. Marcus grinds Wood into the grass hard, until Wood is moaning and writhing properly.

Wood tries to flip them over, but Marcus won't let him. He's always on top, and making Oliver Wood his bitch is one of the best feelings in the world.

* * *

Oliver runs across the empty stands with a broad grin across his face. He pulled a fantastic save that he's inordinately proud of, and he looks at Marcus as though Marcus should share the sentiment.

Marcus doesn't, and when Oliver reaches him that's clear. Oliver's smile falters; Marcus' frown holds firm. It's not so much that he's frowning on purpose, so much as he's just unable to feel happiness for others. That's not what they're about, and Oliver should know that.

Oliver grumbles, "You could at least pretend you're impressed."

Marcus drops the book he was pretending to read and stands up. Oliver is still in his full uniform, even when it's just practice. A few of his housemates came to watch, but Weasley's the only one left, a few benches away. Marcus spent enough time sizing him up and glaring him down; now it's all back to Oliver.

Oliver's panting from the exercise, and his brown hair is tousled and sweat-matted. His sun-kissed skin is practically glowing, and Marcus steps over to grab a fistful of his hair. Marcus forces a rough kiss – seeing Oliver ride a broom always makes him want to fuck.

Oliver tries to push away, muttering, "Marcus, no – Percy's watching."

Marcus hisses, "Let him," and forces Oliver down to the bench.

* * *

It wasn't going to last. But then, Marcus isn't even really sure how it started. He's so full of rage he can't contain himself – he beats the shit out of Pucey for no reason. In the middle of the match he wrenches a bat out of Bole's hands, and he pelts a Bludger so hard at Wood that Wood topples sideways in the air, knocked out cold and sinking to the ground on a deflated broom. Marcus doesn't even care when the whistle blows – seeing Wood's blood splatter the hoops is worth it.

After the match Weasley's on him, spluttering like a badger. It's odd as fuck – he could break Weasley in half if he wanted to. This is the only time he's ever seen Weasley have a backbone – every other time he cowers when Marcus looks at him.

Weasley practically shouts, around the back of the change rooms, "What the hell was that for?"

"It's his fucking job to catch balls," Marcus growls, thinking how easy it would be to flatten Weasley into the wall right now. Just because Wood isn't into it anymore doesn't mean Marcus won't still take it, but he's not into coma patients. Wood's still in the Hospital Wing, with a broken nose and a fractured skull. Weasley would be just as easy to dominate, and he steps back as Marcus eyes him.

But he still looks furious when he storms away, having taken a few points from Slytherin, just for good measure.

* * *

Marcus hits the alarm clock against the wall – it slides to the floor in pieces. Marcus rolls back over and doesn't get out of bed for another hour.

When he does, Percy serves him breakfast, looking sick and still sore. His black eye is slowly disappearing – Marcus knows that as soon as he gets the cover-up spell right he'll Floo home.

Marcus doesn't want that – the apartment's too empty like that. He needs people to shout at. He needs something to ruin. He grabs Percy's wrist while Percy's pouring the syrup over Marcus' pancakes.

Marcus puts the syrup bottle down – when he looks over his shoulder Percy's eyes are scrunched up, looking in pain. Marcus squeezes tighter and leads Percy to the floor. Percy obediently falls to his knees, and Marcus hisses, "Why did you fix that stupid thing?"

Percy opens his mouth but doesn't say anything. He's smart as fuck, and he can fix everything Marcus breaks, and he will. He's smart enough to know there's nothing he can say – he hangs his head and whimpers.

Marcus wants to litter his body in bruises – it's the only way to keep him. Marcus kicks him down to the floor and towers over him, not hungry anymore.

Marcus undoes his belt while he watches Percy shudder. Percy's glasses are askew, and his blue eyes are half-lidded; he looks up at Marcus like this means more than it does.

Percy's a casual fuck Marcus has turned into a slave and a housemaid, and he half knows Percy only takes it because Marcus has beaten him into it. Percy doesn't look away when Marcus bears down on him – not as smart as he looks.

* * *

Marcus is around the corner when they're talking. He's a troll of a man, but he's still a Slytherin, and he can sneak when he wants to. They're on the other side of the lockers – one of them is crying, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out which.

Through the sounds of broken sobbing, Wood's voice soothes, "You're too good for him anyway, Perce."

Marcus rolls his eyes. Weasley sniffs pathetically, practically whimpering, "Oliver..."

"I'm serious," Wood insists. "Look, he's just using you. And he's obviously hurting you – that's what he does. That's all he knows. You have to get away..."

"It's not his fault," Weasley counters, and Marcus' chest constricts in a way he can't explain. "It's like you said – he just doesn't know any better, but... but maybe if..."

"You can't change him. It's the way he is. ...And you're just going to get hurt in the process, and I... Percy, I can't stand to see you like this..."

Weasley makes another chocked sobbing sound – Marcus closes his eyes and can see it. He can see Weasley contorted on the floor, tears streaming down his face, covering his stupid freckles and lighting him up – he's prettiest when he cries. Wood is probably just as hurt, in his own quiet way – wounded that someone he cares about is broken.

Marcus feels a vindictive pleasure in the pit of his stomach, mixed with the usual hatred. He balls his fists at his sides. It's over again, he knows, just like it always is – life's one big ball of emptiness and fucked up people not really _there for you._

Marcus goes back to the pitch alone, trying not to think of them holding each other.

* * *

When they leave, Marcus can't touch them. In a few days they'll all be gone, out into the world, and Marcus will probably never see the rival he's had for seven years again, or the Prefect bustling into his path. They won't keep in touch, they wouldn't answer his owls, and he catches their whispered promises to each other, and it _makes him sick._

He kicks into the air with burning skin, like everything's crawling to get out. The wind whips at him like claws – flying isn't fun like it used to be. It's just something he does, and he spirals upwards, straight into the rain.

Then he plummets back to the ground, mud everywhere. He'll keep his ugly apartment, and he'll get some shitty job. and he won't think about them. He'll start all over.

Maybe he'll owl his dad.

Maybe he'll give that book back.

Seven shitty years.

...He just feels empty.


End file.
